Hot Mess
by Tamer of Light
Summary: Amy attempts to bake. It doesn't turn out the way she hopes.


**Notes: **While I'm posting some of my fics on ffnet, not all of them are here, so if you're curious, feel free to check my tumblr. This was written for a prompt given by a friend and I just finally finished it for her today. I believe that's a record for me - two fics in two days.

Again, this is smut so if you're under age or not a fan of it, please kindly press the back arrow.

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Pulling out the steaming tray of cupcakes, her face fell flat when she spotted splotches of black and looked grimly at the smoky, burnt odor coming from the oven.

Why did she sign up for the stupid bake sale again?

Ian had asked her the same thing, both knowing full well the extent of Amy's exemplary talents in the kitchen. Oh, right. Amy thought with a roll of her eyes. She had gone off and lectured both husband and daughter that they were going to be normal (despite the family name), do normal suburban things (despite the mansion and fifty-foot gate), and be a part of the community if Amy had to drag her family kicking and screaming to the next PTA meeting (despite Ian's total disregard for society).

The kitchen was a mess and she matched it. That morning, Amy had gotten up with fixed determination that she was going to make the best cupcakes ever and hadn't bothered to get dressed properly. Hair piled high into a messy bun, she had simply stolen one of Ian's shirts and donned pajama shorts, before setting out. Both of which _and_ her apron were now smeared with stains of egg yolk, flour and sugar.

She was so tired and frustrated that she didn't notice someone else in the room until that someone was behind her, wrapping their arms around her waist.

"Hello, love," Ian murmured into her ear, before resting his chin on her shoulder. "What are we looking at?"

"Exhibit A of my failure as a mother." She intoned, gesturing half-heartedly at the oven.

He straightened and peered over her shoulder, trying to hold back a smirk, but the smug look in his eyes gave him away. Turning her around to face him, he noticed the rare pout that currently graced his wife's face and though his shoulders were shaking with laughter (to which, she dutifully ignored), he gave her a soothing squeeze anyway.

"They look… good?"

"I should've just bought the stupid cupcakes," She grumbled, reaching past him for the cookbook. But before she could grab it, he snatched it away and leaned back to avoid Amy's attempt to smack him.

Ian shook a finger at her as he backed out of the way again. "Ah, ah," he grinned teasingly, "Now that would be cheating and we wouldn't want Grace to be a cheater, now would we?"

There was an eye roll, before she eyed him with exasperation. "Give me the book, Kabra," she nearly growled at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"I can help you, _Kabra_," Ian mocked her tone as he flipped through the book and scanned the earmarked recipe. "But," The low timbre of his voice was infused with a tone of something she knew was bound to be sneaky and the familiar foreboding feeling that she was going to get in trouble briefly touched the edges of her mind, "it's going to cost you."

Rolling up her sleeves, Amy glanced at the cookbook in his hand. Swiping away her bangs, she bit her lip and stared ahead in fixed determination. She was definitely going to regret this. "I'm your wife. You have to help me anyway." It was a weak argument, but she thought she would try anyway.

A chuckle briefly escaped his lips as he regarded her thoughtfully. "We both know that one never works," He brushed up against her, tucking strands of red behind her ear.

"How about a kiss?"

Her forehead wrinkled as Amy stared at him, skepticism evident. "That's it?"

"I can't have a kiss from my wife of a near decade?"

The question was innocent enough, but considering she had known Ian Kabra since they were kids, innocence could and would never be synonymous with him or his family name.

She let out a sigh, cursed her desperation, and on the tips of her toes, pressed a short kiss to his lips. Stepping back, she noticed, with amusement, that he was not as entertained with her payment.

Ian walked over to the counter and tossed an egg up and down for a few seconds, before launching it at Amy. The impact of his action and the splatter of the egg all over her chest made her recoil in shock as she stared disbelievingly at him, mouth wide open. "_Ian!_" she scowled, shaking the splattered mess to the floor. "Real mature."

She turned around to snatch a fistful of flour and threw it at him. Ian, in turn, grabbed the pie nearby and smashed it against her face. And they kept going, throwing anything they could find at each other, laughter lighting up the kitchen as they dodged, hurled, and yelped.

Panting heavily as a layer of flour snowed around them, Amy looked down at herself, before her attention went to Ian. They were covered from head to toe in various foods. Slowly, she picked up a few of the last strawberries in a nearby bowl and took a small bite.

Leaning against the counter, she raised her eyes to Ian, a slow smile crept on her face as she noticed how amber eyes had darkened to burnished gold, glowing with intent and desire and how focused he was on her lips as she closed her eyes to savor the sweet taste.

"You have a little something there, love." His mouth curled into a handsome smirk, giving her a pretty good idea of what was to come.

"Oh?" Her answering smile was of someone up to no good. "Why don't you get it for me?"

Fingers latching onto his silk necktie, she yanked him over and their lips hungrily met halfway. He quickly tipped her head back, plastering his body against hers. The counter dug into her back, but she couldn't feel anything except the taste and touch of his hands and lips.

Her whimpers of approval rung loudly in his ears as hot, moist kisses trailed her jaw line, as Ian nipped and licked his way down her neck to the valley between her breasts. Head tilted to the side, her chest heaved for air as her fingers raked through silky ink strands, pressing him further into ivory skin.

He yanked down her shirt, sweeping past her bra and cupping the soft mound underneath. Gnawing on her lip, Amy tried to hold back a moan as he brushed it, her hands roamed over the cinnamon skin underneath his dress shirt, stroking his toned abdomen. Gently flicking the hardened nub, he paused to lean over her form. A few seconds later, she bit back a gasp, feeling a cold sensation on her nipple.

Wide, green eyes looked down to see a slather of white frosting before Ian's mouth covered her breast and she arched painfully into him. Her hold on his head tightened as his tongue swirled around her nipple, flicking and teasing the hardened bud.

"Ian," she tugged on him anxiously, pushing him away. Amy hopped onto the counter and her legs pulled him back in-between her legs, locking them around his hips.

The smirk that danced on his frosting-stained lips made her laugh as she leaned forward. "I think you have a little something there, husband." Her playful tone made him chuckle as his arms wrapped around her waist. Her tongue slipped over his lips, licking away the sweetness, before she pulled him into a languid kiss. His hands crept up to her shorts , tugging them and her panties off and throwing them carelessly over his back.

"So sneaky," she murmured into his ear as his tongue flicked a sensitive spot behind her neck, causing a sigh of approval to escape.

"You did marry a Lucian," His words were followed by a rough groan when she bit his ear, tongue tracing the outer shell of his ear.

She struggled to maintain some sort of sensibility as his fingers hovered tantalizingly near her clit. So close, but not quite enough and she knew that _he_ knew that he was driving her crazy. "What if Grace comes home?" The words were strained as she tried to inch her body closer.

"Then we don't have to worry about giving her the talk." The husky tone sent chills down her spine, before his words registered in her head.

Amy pulled away to scold him just as his fingers dived into her slick core. "Ian!" His name fell out of her in a loud moan as she tightened her hold around his body, hips automatically snapping forward. Her head fell back, chest heaving up and down and Ian had never seen a more beautiful sight. Keeping his fingers moving, he bent down to lick the droplets of sweat that slid down her chest, before his tongue traced a wet trail up to the swell of her breasts.

Her hands clutched his shoulders tightly as she rocked against his fingers, desperate for more as her cries grew louder. "Pants off." She demanded as heat blistered fiercely in the pit of her stomach and whimpers began to fall carelessly from her lips. She was so, so close. It was unbearable how tightly wound she was.

Shoving off his pants and boxers, he gripped her thighs apart and surged forward in one long stroke, slipping into her drenched entrance easily. Guttural moans echoed into their kitchen as her muscles contracted around him, thrumming her every nerve with intense arousal. He established a delicious rhythm that had her gasping for more and she could feel the counter shuddering from his hard thrusts, how tense his forearms were from clenching it as he propelled forward. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades, creating half-moon dents as her feet curled against his calves, desperately meeting his thrusts.

"Amy," his voice was raspy, almost pleading as his hoarse grunts against her sweaty skin set her ablaze and she could feel his lust down to her toes as the thick layer of heat between them spiraled higher. His chest was flushed against hers, their heavy pants and moans intertwining seamlessly and with each hard thrust, it felt like he was reaching through, into her.

Her nipples were erect and aching for his attention as they rubbed against his own, he could feel her muscles tightening around his length, squeezing and pushing and hurtling him towards ecstasy. She began to buck against him, grinding against his tense body, hands frantically sliding all over to touch every inch of skin she could reach.

Ian angled her thighs, driving in deeper, more forcefully as he lurched up to unite their lips again, tongue plunging in and out, echoing the movements of his member, eager and aching for her taste, her warmth. The sensations crackled beneath her skin, goose bumps crawling along her skin as her body bucked wildly against him. Her mouth widened into a silent scream as her back curved into an arc, lifting off the counter, body convulsing and she felt a blinding, blazing, bright release as complete pleasure overtook her body.

His face fell into the crook of her neck, her name repeating over and over in a low mantra as the sweet clenching of her body and the feel of her climax caused him to explode. He was breathless against her damp skin as his hips continued to jerk into her haphazardly, until he slowed to a stop. Her hands were running up and down his back as she placed wet kisses wherever her lips could reach, exhaling shakily into his hair, her breath tickling his ear.

Her legs were trembling as he helped her off the counter. Angling her head, Ian cradled her flushed cheeks, affectionately noting the rosy tint as he lowered his head down to capture her lips again. The kiss was slow and sweet and everything he still remembered like how their first kiss was. She covered his hands with her own as their lips brushed against each other, light and playful and teasing.

"Hi," he murmured with a boyish grin, before giving her a peck on the nose.

Soft laughter escaped her as she smiled up at him, her face leaning into his hand, jade eyes shining and happy. "Hi."

As if remembering something, she slanted her head to the side and scanned their surroundings. Food covered every inch of their formerly clean kitchen, from the floors to the cabinets to the counters. She let out a sigh and knowing what his wife was thinking, Ian pulled her into his embrace.

And as he scooped a slop of egg yolk off her (his) shirt, he said. "We'll buy the cupcakes."

* * *

_Four months later:_

"How do you feel about the name "Pillsbury" for our son?"

Amy smacked him with the cupcake pan.

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Okay, okay, last note. I have an awesome joke for this fic that I thought up at the end of writing this.

"Amy ended up putting a bun in _her _oven."

_Eh, eh, eh?_


End file.
